A Gentleman's Gentleman
by moray
Summary: [On hold] Alert! Severe denial on the author's part. Cain comes across a weird new poison, but seems reluctant to share with his manservant and confidant. Taciturnity on his part, or something a little more... bizarre?
1. Bath

Riff flicked a speck of dust away from his lordship's shoes, neatly and professionally. These were one of his lordship's spare pairs, the lord himself out solving a mystery, as was per the usual.

He hummed to himself, trying not to worry. It was normal for his lordship to be out for more than twenty-four hours, especially if a lady was involved. Not that Riff meant that in any lewd way. His lordship just had an excellent nose for ladies in dire need. And an excellent taste in lovely ladies in dire need.

Riff paused in silent admonishment to his impolite thought. No manservant should ever think that way about his employer!

Well... then again, he wasn't _exactly_ a manservant. Just an aspiring doctor press-ganged into his lordship's service. How... odd.

"Riff! Dammit man, where are you?"

Ah. There was his lordship now. "Is there anything that I can do for your lordship?"

An irate gold-green glare was tossed his way. "Riff, run a bath for me. A _hot_ one, mind you."

He bowed his head meekly. "Yes, my lord."

Cain stopped dead in the act of flinging his overcoat across the entry hall. "Riff? What's wrong?"

He removed the sodden coat, draping it over his arm. "Nothing, my lord. There's tea and brandy in your room."

Cain touched the taller man on the shoulder in what could have been taken as thanks or dismissal. "I'm sorry, Riff. I'll tell you about the case once the bath is ready."

He took that as his cue to buzz off and do as he was ordered to do. He silently padded out of the entry hall (all servants were able to walk silently – it was a trick of the trade necessitated by finicky nobles) and up to the second floor where his lordship kept his personal quarters while in Town.

Cain stared moodily at the puddle his was currently making/standing in. _Silly Riff, the man should have mopped this up by now... oh, yes. I sent him upstairs because I'm in a foul mood and I feel like taking it out on the poor man._

He growled at himself, at the overly-polite and accommodating Riff, at the world in general. He stomped upstairs, pretending that he wasn't the responsible, charismatic, and intimidating Count Hargreaves.

Riff, by virtue of excellent training and years of service, didn't even blink when his lord and master thumped into the bathroom with his own portable storm cloud. "Bubbles, my lord?"

"Very funny, Riff."

"I was being entirely serious, my lord; the chamomile bubble solution is soothing, or so the women at the shop tell me. However, if it displeases you, I shall give it to Mrs. Trapp."

"No, it's fine. I'm just being... look, I'm in a horrible mood, and I'm sorry for taking it out on you. It's been one of those days."

"Of course, my lord. It's only natural." Riff quietly began to divest his lord of clothing, folding them neatly and putting them in the laundry basket. "I'll need to trim your hair again, my lord. Shall I bring tea in while you bathe?"

Cain ignored the abrupt conversation changes. "Sure. And when you're done, I'd like to talk to you."

"Of course, my lord."

When Cain was finally sunk up to his chin in steamy hot water with a few handfuls of bubbles piled on top of his head, Riff padded soundlessly in. "Riff...?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You're aware that arsenic is completely harmless when taken dry, correct?"

"Of course. You've spoken to me several times about such a property."

Cain sank lower into the bathtub. "And you know that if a man acclimates himself to dry arsenic up to several grains at one time, then he can take approximately half his tolerance in the wetted version."

"I am aware of that peculiarity, yes. Some of the side effects of immunization are quite unique."

"Huh?" Cain looked fuzzily up at his manservant. Bubbles and foam oozed their way down the side of his face.

"The tone of one's skin changes and there's a specific way of testing for arsenic utilizing hair and nail clippings."

The younger man sat bolt upright. "What?"

Riff blinked innocently at him. "I thought you knew, sir. If hair grown in the presence of unusual amounts of arsenic is tested, then one can determine exactly how long one has been trying to immunize oneself. I believe there was a murder in New York City that was solved in precisely the same manner."

Cain sunk back down, thoroughly dejected. "I just wrote that off as the police using some nonsense to catch a man they had been wanting to hang..."

"The fact that the murderer was a city commissioner no doubt lent its assistance to that assumption." Riff leaned over and wiped Cain's face. "You needn't look so demoralized, sir."

"You needn't try to salve my wounded conceit, Riff. I'm perfectly capable of surviving a blow to my pride."

There was no way Riff could reply to that without breaking some rule of decorum, so he just kept his mouth shut.

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... I guess we can say that this is an alternate storyline from right about... let's just say the end of Godchild 1 to cover my favorite part. Any and all _Count Cain_ fics from me will follow this line. What can I say, I'm in denial. It's so comfy once one wears down all the little chafing bits!

I'm assuming that Cain doesn't know about the quirks of arsenic – from what I've seen of the character, he just knows how poisons kill people and how to dilute them, not about the weird (and sometimes amusing) physiological side effects of certain drugs.

This is my first _Count Cain_ fanfic, and I enjoyed writing it. If you have any qualms with my characterization, sod off and chalk it up to me loving to write AU fics. This is probably going to end up as a chaptered story. (sorry, I have a nasty habit of not leaving well enough alone...)

... has anyone else noticed the eerie resemblance between Riff and Bunter from the Peter Wimsey books?

chibi!Riff: ...

chibi!Bunter: –absolutely scandalized at the fact that he's a chibi–


	2. Wardrobe

"My lord, there seems to be an invitation here –"

"I won't be at home, Riff."

"– issued by the Drummond-Tabers for a masque."

Cain's head snapped up and around, a bloodhound catching the scent. "Drummond-Taber? The opera sponsors?"

"I believe so, yes."

"H'm... there was an arsenic scandal involving them a year or so ago," the youth mused, tapping his pen against his lower lip. "There's also been more sinister rumors floating around Faith Drummond-Taber."

"One mustn't believe all one hears, my lord," Riff said blandly, setting out tea and scones.

"Rumors are what I thrive on, Riff." He sat upright suddenly, tossing the pen across his desk. Ink dribbled across his papers. "I think I shall go! It'll be a lark, Riff!"

"What costume shall you use?"

"We shall go as a set," Cain said gaily. "I hardly think that Perseus and the Minotaur –"

"Theseus, my lord."

"Or Pyramus and Thisbe won't do." A calculating look popped into his green-gold eyes. "What do you say to being Sarastro, Riff? I can go as Tamino, and you can be Sarastro."

Riff's pale eyebrows knitted into a complicated frown. "My lord, _Die Zauberflöte_ is being produced by the Drummond-Tabers..."

"Exactly. But we'll need masks... a half-face lion mask will do for you, my dear Riff."

"I did not think that Sarastro wore a mask."

"He has a pair of lions with him. For those cultured enough to know, they'll understand."

"If you say so, my lord."

"Bring me my tea, will you? Oh, you know how much sugar to add! But my mask... a death-mask? No, that's macabre, even for me!"

Riff ignored his lord's excited chattering. Either his lordship had ingested some type of hallucinogenic substance last night that was not beneficial to his health, or his lordship was hiding something. He was willing to bet his position that his lordship was hiding something.

He hummed soundlessly, then paused. _Sugar_? "Might I suggest something, my lord?"

"H'm?" Cain visibly pulled himself back from his fantasy land. "What?"

"I recommend you take a sedative. If I may be so bold to say, you're getting on my nerves."

To his complete and utter well-bred shock, the count _laughed_. "I'm sorry," the young man said ruefully. "I forgot that I shouldn't scare the servants so much anymore."

"Yes, sir, that would be an excellent idea. Might I recommend wearing something slightly more sedate than a bottle green necktie to the meeting tonight?"

"What? A regimental tie?"

"Entirely noncommittal, my lord. Very proper and admirable. Or the tie with the Hargreaves crest."

"That may seem like I'm lording my position –"

"M'm" was the only answer he gave his lordship, purely professional. "Your tea, my lord."

"Riff?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Why do you... why are... why do you care so much?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Cain waved a hand impatiently. "It's obvious that you care so much about me and... just _everything_. Why do you do it?"

Riff just smiled. It was small, but still genuine. "Because I can, my lord. Now, you should probably start getting dressed for the meeting, my lord."

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–rolls out the chalkboard– Okay, kiddies, lesson-time!

_Die Zauberflöte_ is better known in America as _The Magic Flute_. I chose this opera (as opposed to, oh, say, _Faust_) because it's the opera I know the most about. Though, _Faust_ would have led to a couple of interesting parallels... I'll shut up now.

Cain seems almost manic in this chapter. Why? Because he has something to hide! Naughty Cain! Reasons will become clear later on! The story will actually start moving along in the next few chapters. Exposition is always such an ugly thing.

Oh, and Riff will start taking over, and the title will be explained soon... I hope.

NYC _did_ exist in the Victorian age. It had been around since the Dutch arrived here and set up a settlement named Gotham. (sound familiar? Gotham City in _Batman_ is actually an AU New York City, just like Metropolis in _Superman_. And yes, you annoying squirts, Hell's Kitchen actually does exist in NYC; it's a leftover nickname from the Gilded Age.) Later on, the English barged in and basically bought Gotham off of the Dutch, naming the acquired city New York after the Duke of York (which is both a shire and city in England). New York wasn't the massive metropolis in the Victorian that we know now. It was more residential in the Victorian Age and less of an economic and industrial powerhouse that it became later on.

–puts away the chalkboard and sweatdrops– Sorry about the impromptu history lesson. I felt the need to expound and prove that _yes_, I did pass the history test last week. Sorry. Feel free to hit me in a review.

**Birdie**: Thank you so much! You're the one that kicked me in the tush for updating this. It's nice to know that I'm being read and appreciated, and that there are other _Count Cain_ fans out there! –huuuug–


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